


As Useless As Trelawney

by Lomonaaeren



Series: Advent Fics 2015 [15]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Present Tense, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 03:21:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5481458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry and Draco move in together, everyone from Ron to Narcissa predicts imminent mayhem. They have no idea what’s really going on behind closed doors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Useless As Trelawney

**Author's Note:**

> Written as an Advent fic for a prompt by lijahlover, who asked for _Harry and Draco are in an established relationship and decide to move in together. We can explore what friends and family think about this news. I trust what you write so go crazy with it I just would like more of a flangst if needed not to much angst. The holiday's put me in the mood for fluff and romance. :)_

“Harry and Draco have a perfectly peaceful relationship.” Hermione recites the words without looking up from the minutes of some boring meeting that she attended somewhere in the bowels of the Ministry. Ron’s a little hurt. Surely he’s more important than the minutes, even if his story isn’t shocking anymore.  
  
“But now they have a house together.” Ron tries to emphasize his words. Hermione’s eyes never move from the damn minutes. “That must mean they’re going to explode.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Before, they could leave each other and go home when they got angry.” Ron wonders why she doesn’t understand. She’s always accusing  _him_ of having the emotional range of a teaspoon, when it ought to be obvious to anyone looking at Harry and Malfoy what’s going to happen. Harry is always turning red whenever someone asks about things with Malfoy. He wears glamours on his neck and face half the time. Ron knows Malfoy’s biting him.  
  
He’s tried looking up Malfoy’s family tree, to see if he had a vampire somewhere among his stuffy ancestors, but he hasn’t been able to find anything. Lucius bloody Malfoy probably paid someone to clean up the records, Ron thinks grimly.  
  
“Nothing will happen. Except that we’ll have to buy a gift for them, I suppose.”  
  
“A gift?  _Why_?” Ron’s not going to spend his hard-earned money on a gift for any Dark wizard.  
  
“Because they’re moving into a new house.” Hermione stares into the distance, and Ron is more annoyed than he can say that  _this_ got her to forget about the meeting for a minute. “I wonder what their decorating scheme will be?”  
  
“Who cares about their  _decorating scheme_?” Ron waves his hands in the air. “If you really want to help them, then we’ll get Harry protective armor that he can wear under his clothes. Especially over his neck.”  
  
“Draco isn’t going to hurt him—”  
  
“Do you  _see_ the amount of glamours Harry wears?”  
  
“He’s trying to keep from embarrassing you by forcing you to see the marks of Draco’s love for him,” says Hermione, and sighs a little. She lays the minutes of the meeting aside, though, which cheers Ron up. It might mean he can get her to pay enough attention to dinner to taste his cooking. “Look, Ron. I’m happy for them. Can’t you be happy?”  
  
“I could be happy before,” Ron says, and he’s only lying a little. “But it’ll  _explode_ now. That’s what I’m saying. Without privacy of his own, what is Harry going to do when he gets irritated at Malfoy?”  
  
“What did we do when we got irritated at each other when we first started dating, Ron?”  
  
“You went home and complained to your parents, and I went home and complained to Mum and Dad,” Ron says promptly. He remembers that time in their relationship especially well, when nothing seemed like it was going right, and he even believed he might have chosen the wrong person to date. “But only Malfoy has parents to complain to.”  
  
“Harry has us.” Hermione smiles at him, her eyes crinkling up a little. That was one of the things that convinced Ron he’d made the right decision, so he ends up smiling back. “Look, Ron. I’m sure Harry will come and tell us if there’s a real problem. But I don’t expect there to be. Both Harry and Malfoy are more rational than you think they are.”  
  
“ _Rational_ doesn’t mean a whole lot when you’re in love.”  
  
“No. But they know better than to hurt each other. Malfoy’s not abusive towards Harry, and he really does love him.”  
  
Ron sighs. He can feel Hermione’s words settling into his brain, convincing him almost against his will, the way they so often do. “Well, all right. If you’re sure that that’s going to work out.”  
  
“I am.” Hermione says it firmly again, and catches his hand. “Just remember to be sympathetic when Harry comes to us to complain, all right? And not curse Malfoy when you see him.”  
  
“I could offer him one of George’s toffees…?”  
  
Hermione considers that a second, then snorts. “If he’s stupid enough to take it, then he deserves what he gets.”  
  
Ron beams at her. “I  _love_ you, Hermione.” He picks up her hand and kisses it, and Hermione smiles back at him.  
  
“What’s for dinner?”  
  
Yes, he’s sure his decision was right.  
  
*  
  
Yes, people aren’t rational when they’re in love. Hermione knows Ron is right. She’s made a few decisions she isn’t proud of herself, especially in that difficult first year when she and Ron really  _did_ visit their parents all the time to complain.  
  
But she knows Malfoy is more reserved and cold than either of them were—are. And Harry has showed her the floorplans for the house. There are three bedrooms.  
  
One for guests, Hermione is sure, or just for convenience. Perhaps if Harry and Malfoy ever adopt children.   
  
But two bedrooms other than that. One for each of them.  
  
Harry hasn’t said which one they plan to share. Hermione, though, is confident he’ll have his own space, one to retreat into when he gets angry, and have as a back-up plan in case she’s wrong and the arguments between Harry and Malfoy get more heated than she think they will.  
  
Perhaps the gift for their new house can be a book on protection and locking spells. Malfoy won’t think twice about it, while Harry, Hermione is sure, will look at her in gratitude for the silent meaning.  
  
*  
  
George steps back and eyes the shelves on shelves of his products—sweets that will make someone piss orange for weeks after one taste, mirrors that will make someone believe their noses are three times as large as they really are, fake hair that will grow persistently wherever someone sticks it.  
  
“I don’t know if it’s enough, Fred,” he says, shaking his head. He knows his twin isn’t there, but it’s still comforting to talk to him. “If he hurts Harry…”  
  
Nothing that George’s pranks can do to Draco Malfoy will be enough in that instance.  
  
On the other hand, George thinks as he wanders towards the front of the shop, maybe he ought to trust in Harry’s cunning. Harry was smart enough to invest in them, once upon a time, two boys with clever ideas and no source of funding. Can he have let all his brain flow out of him along with his spunk?  
  
He won’t have, George knows. Harry’s smart enough to keep a stock of pranks on hand to punish Malfoy if he screws up. And knowing Malfoy, he’ll screw up sooner or later. Once George would have put his money on “later,” but now that they’re living together, Harry will get to see all of Malfoy’s little quirks.  
  
Having tried to live together with many people in the years since the war, George knows the way those little quirks can go from charming to annoying in a fortnight.  
  
“Then we’ll have  _our_ Harry back,” he tells the echo of Fred in his soul, and smiles fiercely into an ordinary mirror. His grin still doesn’t satisfy him. It should have another beside it, a reflection with no need of a mirror. Of course he knows that, and he still has to pause sometimes and remember why it isn’t there.  
  
But in the meantime, he can do something that will encourage a little creative revenge on Harry’s part. Just in case he’s done something because of his blind love that involves throwing away pranks. Or if Malfoy’s found Harry’s set of them and thrown them away during the move.  
  
George reckons that an anonymous set of owls, loaded down with tricks and timed to arrive at the new house when Malfoy’s job as a Healer keeps him elsewhere, will be appreciated even if Harry doesn’t get the chance to tell him right away.  
  
*  
  
Lucius sits up in the middle of the night and stares at the mirror on the wall. Then he shakes his head.  
  
He feels Narcissa move beside him and put one hand on his arm. “What is it?” she murmurs.  
  
“The crumbs,” Lucius replies.  
  
“What crumbs? I’m sure that I ordered the house-elves to clean up after dinner as usual.”  
  
“No,” Lucius says, and turns to look at her. After so many years, it’s not hard for his eyes to find her face even in the dim light that comes from the slow fire and the starshine of the enchanted windows. “Imagine how Draco will be bothered by the crumbs when Potter refuses to allow house-elves to clean up after him.”  
  
“Well.” Narcissa leans on her shoulder. “I imagine Draco won’t like it, no. But I don’t think crumbs will drive him away from Potter.”  
  
“I wasn’t thinking they would, not by themselves.” Lucius wraps his arm around Narcissa’s shoulders. “What I think is going to happen is that Draco will get steadily more and more miserable, quietly, not understanding even inside his own soul why it isn’t working. And then he will come here someday, and see the house-elves, and understand.”  
  
“At which point he will end his affair with Potter.”  
  
“He’ll have to.” Lucius shakes his head. “I just hate to think of how long it’s going to take, how much suffering he’s going to endure. But at this point, I don’t think there’s any way to get through to him without that. The last time I spoke to him…”  
  
“I know. It was a disaster. And my own attempts did not go much better.” Narcissa tilts her head at him again. “Consider it this way, my dear. Slow suffering now, however horrible it is for Draco, will ultimately spare him years with Potter. Months of torture is better than a lifetime of it.”  
  
“I suppose you’re right,” Lucius says, and slowly lies back down in the bed again. Narcissa strokes his shoulder and head. Lucius smiles at her and murmurs, “I only wish Draco could have been lucky enough to find his perfect partner early in life, the way we did.”  
  
“I know.” Narcissa kisses him. “But at least he will know what he wants, after this. He’ll understand in his soul what will benefit him.”  
  
“And that will persuade him as neither of us could ever do,” Lucius says, well-content now. Narcissa always understands how to cheer him up.  
  
*  
  
Narcissa sometimes feels like a great cat, lying on a high ledge and watching the prey pass below. Even more rarely than she feels that way, she feels as if someone joins her and contemplates and understands the view. Usually it is Lucius.  
  
But Lucius is not with her now, as she lies there and licks her claws—in her head—while remaining, in the outer world, perfectly still in the bed beside her husband.  
  
Draco is free of them, of most influences they can bring to bear on him. He has been since the war, or at least since the moment when Potter came to hand him back his wand and Narcissa saw him look down at it and his features slowly firm and his eyes slowly clear.  
  
Narcissa knows she cannot drive him away from Potter, that their love is strong and firm.  
  
But she also knows that Potter is less firm in his love than Draco. He must be. A Malfoy, or a Black, opens his heart to few. That means they have a steadier base to stand on. Potter, by contrast, loves and cares for a multitude—Weasleys, the people he tries to protect as an Auror, the innocents he speaks of every time the Ministry has him make a speech on the anniversary of the war.  
  
He will break away and drift free. It is as inevitable as the wind changing direction.  
  
And Draco will return to them.  
  
Unlike Lucius, Narcissa does not hope he will return chastened. She likes her son’s new strength and passion. But he needs to direct it to a worthy object, someone who will make a place for Draco in a heart with few alcoves open.  
  
But Narcissa thinks they need do nothing openly. Only watch, and wait, and perhaps lick their claws together, during the few times Lucius can join her on her high ledge.  
  
*  
  
“Do you know Weasley thinks I’m some species of vampire?” Draco says conversationally as he drives into Harry.   
  
Harry arches his back and shivers. He’s glad they’re doing this in their bedroom, and not the office across the corridor, designed as a bedroom on the plans. They did it there yesterday, and he had troubles keeping up his concentration on the paperwork he’d brought home for  _hours_ afterwards.  
  
“Which Weasley?” Harry reaches up and clutches Draco’s arms. Draco snorts and flexes deeper inside him, making Harry’s head spin.  
  
“Not the one who sent you the enormous clutch of pranks.”  
  
Harry laughs, and catches his breath again as Draco rams against his prostate. “Like  _that_.”  
  
“I know.” Draco’s laugh is smug, but slow and delicious, and his words at least break up when he begins pounding inwards again, which is enough to satisfy Harry. “I—think they—all thought it wouldn’t—last.”  
  
“When we moved in together. Yes.”  
  
Harry can close his eyes, and he does, because that makes the sensations more intense. He wonders for a second what Draco’s parents think, and then discards the thought, because he’s never going to know. There are simply too many moments he’s been around Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy and looked into their empty eyes and known the difference between those and the words they spoke.  
  
“It’s not going to end.”  
  
Draco whispers the words into his ear, but it’s not like he has to convince Harry. Harry raises his hands and clamps and clutches down on Draco’s arms. “It never is.”  
  
“They’re the ones who don’t understand.”  
  
Draco’s voice is smooth and strong again, which could be annoying under some circumstances, but Harry perfectly understands these particular ones, and answers in return. “They don’t need to.”  
  
“We don’t need to explain—”  
  
Draco seizes up and comes over the edge, and Harry follows him, toes flexing deliciously. Draco nestles his head against Harry’s chest in the next instant, and whispers the final words of their promise.  
  
“To them.”  
  
Harry strokes Draco’s hair, and waits until he opens his eyes and smiles at him. Then he says, a private joke between them, “All their predictions are as useless as Trelawney’s.”  
  
Draco doesn’t laugh for a second. “She made one true prophecy.”  
  
“Two,” Harry corrects him. “But our families have already had their two. When they said we would fight a lot at first and when they said they didn’t understand.”  
  
Draco smiles and kisses him so hard that Harry’s lips feel numb. That’s all right. Harry kisses back, and lets his mind swim in languid pleasure.  
  
Ron and Hermione and George and Lucius and Narcissa and all the rest of them don’t need to understand perfectly for Harry and Draco to have smooth relationships when they’re with them and their own privacy when they’re not.  
  
Harry and Draco have it anyway.  
  
**The End.**


End file.
